Session Player
What did San Antonio Democrat Leticia Van De Putte learn in her first go around as a state senator? That victories are hard-won and compromise is inevitable. That just because she's a legislator she doesn't stop being a wife and a mother.
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Week Nine
After all the haggling, phone calls, and meetings, the better jobs bill passes the Senate. Van de Putte is philosophical: "I've been through potty training six times. It was always tough. You learn to expect mistakes. "
Week Ten
Bills are emerging from committee, so Van de Putte must prepare for votes on the Senate floor. Today, her staff members will present short briefings on issues that will be heard, arming her with questions and amendments. Her effectiveness depends largely on how well these staffers do their job. It's impossible for a senator to read every line of every bill, but knowledgeable aides can spot nuances and implications that would otherwise be missed. But first, Van de Putte must consult Democratic senator Judith Zaffirini of Laredo on a pressing matter: What is she wearing? It's Republican Women's Day, when women in the GOP wear red. Van de Putte wants to confirm a high-level compromise worked out the previous night. "We decided to go halfway there," she says. She and Zaffirini will wear red blouses to the Senate floor. When they arrive, the Senate gallery is a sea of red. As Republican senator Florence Shapiro of Plano makes a round of introductions, Zaffirini and Van de Putte show off crimson collars peeking from under their suit jackets. Their simple gesture of goodwill toward the Republican women will go a long way toward developing trust with their colleagues."
Week Twelve
Somebody put us on overdrive," Van de Putte says in wonder. Two of her committees are meeting simultaneously, so she's making one of many long treks—easily the length of a couple of city blocks—between the committee room behind the Senate chamber and one in the underground extension. She's wearing hot-pink, open-toed high heels, seemingly not the wisest choice for a high-mileage day. "Aren't they great?" she asks. "Today I said, 'What the hell. I want to look like a San Antonio girl getting ready for Fiesta.' These are my Hoochie-Mama shoes. All of us have a little Hoochie-Mama in us, and mine came out today."In the Education committee, chairman Teel Bivins quickly and methodically calls for votes on all of the bills that witnesses have testified on that day. Since Van de Putte hasn't been there the whole time, her legislative assistant, David Romo, whispers explanations of bills heard in her absence. Finally, she gives up. "I'm sorry. I don't know which bill we are on," she says.
After her committee meetings, she joins a Hispanic Caucus discussion about redistricting. Then she meets with lobbyists for a briefing on a telecommunications bill. She doesn't leave the office until nine-thirty—a long day for someone in Hoochie-Mama shoes.
Week Thirteen
To honor a San Antonio police officer killed in the line of duty, a freshman House member filed a bill increasing penalties for criminals who seize a police officer's weapon. Van de Putte, the Senate sponsor, sits at the committee witness table, presenting the bill to skeptical members of the Senate Criminal Justice Committee. Democratic senator Royce West of Dallas, in particular, isn't sure the bill is needed, noting that cop killers already are eligible for the death penalty. Other laws condemn assaulting police officers, he points out. As the questions become more uncomfortable, Van de Putte writes West a short note, kisses the bottom (she's wearing a bright rose lipstick), and passes it to him. He reads the note, strokes his chin, and smiles at her. She smiles back sweetly. He stops asking questions. Later, she acknowledges that her note asked him to knock it off—in unprintable language.
Week Sixteen
Red, white, and green helium-filled balloons hover over the ballroom at the Four Seasons Hotel for the Senate Hispanic Caucus' Cinco de Mayo celebration. After a full day at the Capitol, Van de Putte twirls around the dance floor with a San Antonio friend. When the tejano band stops playing, University of Texas System chancellor Dan Burck brings her a margarita—an important gesture. Van de Putte and other minority lawmakers, angered by a letter written by UT president Larry Faulkner on the university's record of hiring minority administrators, briefly held up the approval of the nominations of three new regents. In a series of meetings with UT officials, Van de Putte further emphasized her unhappiness by threatening to withhold her vote as a member of the Senate Education committee on a proposed tuition hike. She obviously has gotten their attention. The party is a nice break in what turns out to be an exhausting week: In a few days the Senate will pass the hate crimes bill following an emotionally draining debate. It's after nine o'clock before she reaches the Austin apartment she shares with four female staffers. Despite the occupants' range of ages—from 28 to almost 60—the apartment feels like a college dormitory room. Half a dozen issues of Cosmopolitan are stacked on the coffee table. A pictorial shrine to Texas A&M, the youngest roommate's alma mater, fills another table in the living room. The odd living arrangement works because of the firm house rules: Shoptalk is allowed only around a tiny breakfast table, and a closed bedroom door means "Do Not Disturb." By nine-thirty, the women are in nightgowns and ready for bed—just as soon as Law and Order is over.
Week Seventeen
Every session, tension erupts between the House and the Senate as lawmakers from both chambers watch their bills die from inaction. Today House members are complaining publicly that some senators are taking off early to travel to Dallas for a San Antonio Spurs-Dallas Mavericks playoff game. Van de Putte has a different complaint: "They're going and they didn't tell me? I wanna go." In fact, several days earlier, she took a group of senators to the Spurs-Mavericks game in San Antonio, arranging for a bus and the use of Southwestern Bell's skybox at the Alamodome. Friday is the last day for Senate committees to vote on bills that have already passed the House. The previous night, the House passed dozens of bills, and now—since bills must be approved by both chambers—they must win Senate committee approval in one day or they will all die. Every bill is in jeopardy in this crush, since Senate rules allow a lawmaker to place a "tag"—a 24-hour hold—on any bill. Van de Putte has joked to her fellow senators that she is running a two-for-one special: She'll tag two of their House bills for every one of hers that gets tagged. By the end of the day, she has lost only 8 of 58 House bills she's carrying in the Senate.
Week Twenty
The rest of may rushes by in a blur. Despite all the hype, the Senate spends little time on redistricting before a coalition of Republicans blocks the bill from consideration on the floor. But for Van de Putte, the session has been productive. The seeds planted early on are producing a good yield: The better jobs bill sailed through the House and Senate, and Governor Rick Perry may come to San Antonio for a bill-signing ceremony. She's especially proud that she killed a bill she felt was hostile to injured workers by rounding up ten votes to prevent its debate on the Senate floor. In the House, she notes, she would have had to rally opposition during debate by asking questions from the back microphone.Van de Putte served on the conference committee to negotiate a compromise about teacher health insurance. There, she made sure that children of school employees eligible for low-cost federally funded health insurance didn't lose their benefits because of their parents' new health package. Reflecting on the previous four and a half months, she says she was pleasantly surprised how much a first-term senator could accomplish. "If you put in an effort here—because you are one of only thirty-one—you are going to have an impact," she says.
It's late on Friday, three days before adjournment. Van de Putte is closely watching the clock in the Senate chamber. She has to get home in time to help her daughter Isabella prepare for her eighth-grade graduation. "I wasn't there to get the dress," she says, with clear regret. She worries that Isabella "doesn't feel special." Already, she's looking forward to Tuesday afternoon, when she will take her staff out on a party boat on Lake Travis to celebrate the end of the session. Mentally, she is easing back into her other life. On Tuesday's boat ride, she has decided, "Isabella will be the only one from the family I take along."
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